All day Sunday---nay, pretty much all weekend---I waited to use my new Dirt Devil. A Dirt Devil, for the uninitiated, is a hand-held vacuum cleaner, a possession that has been on my Hey, I Really Want That list for the last year or so, sandwiched somewhere between Tivo and that new mascara that makes your eyelashes visible from the moon.

Here is the first thing you should know: I set my alarm for 6am on Tuesday morning so that I could get up and write the first Secret Bachelor Tuesday recap of the season before I went to work. That's dedication, baby! The second thing you should know is that at 6am when the alarm went off, I rolled over, said "screw that," and went back to sleep until 7:40am, and that's why Secret Bachelor Tuesday is actually most likely going to turn out to be Secret Bachelor Wednesday, especially if you're on the East Coast.

Hmm, Jake Gyllenhaal or Mark Ruffalo---which one would I choose?
Well, which one would I choose in this movie? I mean, if this is how they actually looked in real life, Mark Ruffalo with his extra 20 pounds of weight and his mutton-chop sideburns, and Jake Gyllenhaal with his---well, actually, Jake Gyllenhaal pretty much looks the same. I suppose I'd choose Jake Gyllenhaal then. If I had to have Mark Ruffalo with those sideburns---I mean, if it was absolutely non-negotiable.

I didn't realize it was Easter until last Friday, which was, of course, Good Friday. But then again, every Friday has been Good Friday since I started my job, because every Friday is Bagel Friday, and Bagel Fridays are good.

First, I feel compelled to tell you that before I could get started on this recap, I had to bribe myself with a large bowl of Thin Mint cookie ice cream in order to convince myself to relive the horrendous 90 minutes of lowest common denominator programming I had to sit through yesterday. (What, you didn't know the Girl Scouts made Thin Mint ice cream now, as well as regular Thin Mint cookies? Because they do. The bitches. It's alright for them; they're eight years old. They don't have hips. They don't care.)

On Saturday night, Sean and I went to see The Essex Green playing live in some tiny bar in the Mission, and it was one of those concerts where you're standing about a foot from the band, and you could, quite literally, reach out and touch them if you wanted to. Personally, I did want to, but I made myself behave, because I figured I was already embarassing myself enough with the salivating and the OH MY GOD IT'S THEM THEY'RE LIVE. You remember what happens when I go to concerts, right?

Well, well, well, here we all are again for Secret Bachelor Wednesday---look, I've just given up on aiming for Secret Bachelor Tuesday, alright? I have a job now---and I've got my large glass of Baileys, and you've got your...well, whatever gets you through. I've also got a very large bar of Symphony chocolate, presented to me by Sean "because you were cranky."

Oh dear, I've become something of a one trick pony, haven't I? And the only thing worse than becoming a one trick pony, I think, is becoming a one trick pony whose one trick is recapping old Bachelor episodes.

If I'm lucky, I get to see my parents three times a year---once at Christmas when I go to Singapore, once in the summer when they come to the States, and usually once in the spring, when one of them comes for a visit. I realize that most people my age would mean something very different by "if I'm lucky"---they'd mean they were lucky not to have to see their parents very often, that three times a year was the minimum effort they had to put in. When I say I'm lucky to see my parents three times a year, I do sincerely mean I'm lucky.